


School Days

by tinzelda



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-03
Updated: 2013-08-03
Packaged: 2017-12-22 06:47:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/910178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinzelda/pseuds/tinzelda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James's first couple of weeks at public school.</p>
            </blockquote>





	School Days

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Vsee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vsee/gifts).



> Birthday fic for Vsee! Happy birthday, Vee! I hope you enjoy this little taste of wee James and the rough boys. Many thanks to pharis for a super speedy readthrough, but of course any remaining problems are all mine.

It hadn’t taken much to convince James’s father that he needn’t come up to the dormitory. They’d said goodbye near the steps outside the front door. His father had given him a hearty clap on the shoulder—worlds away from the clinging, tearful hug his mother had given him early that morning. And then James had been on his own.

But after dragging his trunk up two and a half flights of stairs, James was wondering if maybe he should’ve let his father stay. His arms felt like they were going to fall off and tumble down the stairs with the trunk, his fingers still wrapped around the leather handles.

Once he reached the third floor and began walking down the corridor, he was relieved that his father had gone. He’d worn his work clothes, of course. And as James passed by open doors and stole glances inside, all of the other parents he saw looked very posh. Some of the mothers even wore shoes with high heels. James’s mother owned high-heeled shoes—he’d seen them in her wardrobe, but he’d never seen her wear them. Every one of the few dads James saw wore a suit. They were nice suits too, not like the stiff thing his father wore to funerals.

James found his room. It was only two doors down from the bathroom. James couldn’t figure out if this was a good thing or a bad thing. He could hear movement in the room, and voices. He took a deep breath and took the last couple of steps to his door.

“Hello!” A tall thin lady with curly brown hair came to the door and held out her hand for James to shake. “You must be James!”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I’m Mrs. Hargrave, Matthew’s mother.”

 _Hargrave_ , James thought. _Were we assigned to the same room just because our names are together in the alphabetical class list?_

“You boys will be rooming together this term, and I’m sure you’ll be great friends!”

“Yes, ma’am.” James knew better than to be anything other than polite, but Mrs. Hargrave’s false cheerfulness made him want to laugh.

“Matthew plays rugby.” Mrs. Hargrave moved away from James as she spoke and began pulling clothes out of a huge trunk—it was at least twice the size of James’s—and hanging them in the wardrobe on the far side of the room. “Are you the athletic type, James?”

James glanced over at his roommate. He had his mother’s wavy brown hair and had a smirk on his face that made the lie rise to James’s tongue effortlessly. “Yes, ma’am.”

“How wonderful! I’m sure you’ll have lots in common!”

James didn’t have to say anything else. Mrs. Hargrave kept up the chirpy chatter as she unpacked every last one of her son’s things. When she was finished, she eyed James’s trunk. “Would you like some help with your things, James?”

“No, thank you,” James answered.

Mrs. Hargrave frowned. James didn’t think she was angry with him for refusing her help. It seemed more like she felt sorry for him, and that was worse. He immediately bent to lift his trunk onto his bed, opened it, and transferred his carefully folded white shirts and uniform trousers into his wardrobe.

“Well then,” Mrs. Hargrave said, looking around the room. “I guess that’s everything then. Walk me to the door to say goodbye, Matthew.”

Hargrave pulled himself off of his desk chair and followed her out of the room. As he walked by, he rolled his eyes at James and said, “How did you get your mum to stay away?”

James couldn’t think of an answer, so he grinned. But this seemed to do the trick—James always found that pretending to conspire against adults worked with most boys.

Once they were gone, James took a deep, steadying breath. Then he walked over to Hargrave’s side of the room to see what he could figure out about his roommate from his things. On the shelf over the desk there were only two books: a dictionary and a thesaurus. They looked like they’d never been used. The rest of the shelf space was filled with rugby trophies.

James returned to his trunk and picked up the rest of his clothes, dumping them in a heap on the bed. He’d have to sort them out later. The bottom of the trunk was lined with books—most of them secondhand paperbacks he’d saved his pocket money for. James grabbed books by the handful and stuffed them into the bottom of his wardrobe. He stacked them as well as he could in such a rush, then covered the pile with a jumper that he hated that his mother had made him bring along. He finished just as Hargrave returned to the room.

“Thank God,” Hargrave sighed as he collapsed onto his bed. “I thought she’d never leave.”

“Mm,” James said. He busied himself with hanging up the clothing he’d left on the bed in such a mess.

“You’re new.”

It sounded like Hargrave was accusing James of something. It made him freeze for a moment. Not that he was afraid, exactly. He forced himself to grab another pair of trousers and line the cuffs up neatly before draping them over a hanger. Only then did he answer, trying to sound distracted. “Yeah?”

“Well, you’re in for it.”

James stopped and turned to look at Hargrave. He was definitely not afraid, but he didn’t like the sound of Hargrave’s words. “What does that mean?”

“This place is terrible,” Hargrave said. But he was grinning as he said it, so James grinned back.

Hargrave picked up a rugby ball from the floor, then fell onto his back on his bed. He tossed the ball into the air as he spoke. Each time he caught it, it made a hollow plunking sound as it hit his palms. “My old roommate left, the lucky sod.”

“Yeah?” James knew he sounded like an idiot, but he couldn’t seem to find words.

“His dad works for the ambassador to Greece, so they had to move there. _Greece_. Can you imagine?”

James couldn’t see how the situation was surprising—wasn’t the whole point of an ambassador to have him travel to other countries? But he just shook his head.

Hargrave suddenly sat up, making James start. He didn’t think Hargrave noticed. He dropped the ball on the floor, and it bounced into a corner.

“You hungry?”

James nodded.

“You beanpole types usually are. Let’s go down to the dining hall. It’s only a few minutes early.”

When James had imagined his first day at school, he’d been certain that he’d be ignored by all the other students. Instead, he walked into the dining hall with Hargrave and then sat down to eat with all of Hargrave’s friends—which seemed to include most of the rugby team. They ignored him, mostly, but James didn’t mind. Because of their talk and laughter, no one seemed to notice that James didn’t say a word.

James tried not to let it bother him when Hargrave didn’t come back into their room after dinner. He stayed out in the corridor talking to a boy named Turner. It wasn’t like James expected they’d spend all their time together just because they were roommates. It was more that Hargrave talked so much—it was impossible to feel lonely or homesick with him around. Not that James was homesick. He hadn’t thought of his parents since his father had left.

James saw Hargrave and Turner leaning against the wall outside Turner’s door when he went to brush his teeth a few minutes before lights out. They didn’t seem to notice him.

It made sense that Hargrave would want to spend time with an old friend rather than James. Hargrave hadn’t chosen James as his roommate. He’d just gotten stuck with him when his real roommate went to Greece. And Turner and Hargrave looked like they were a matched set, with their solid rugby builds and their restless energy. They made James feel too skinny and too tall and too quiet in comparison.

James finished with his teeth and pushed open the bathroom door.

“Think fast!”

It was Hargrave. James turned his head just in time to see something flying at him from down the corridor. He managed to throw up his hands and catch it before it hit him in the face: Hargrave’s rugby ball. James set the ball on the floor, his heart pounding, then kicked it back to Hargrave.

“Not bad, Hathaway,” Hargrave said with a smirk.

James smirked right back at him, which made Hargrave’s expression widen into a genuine smile.

Turner took advantage of Hargrave’s distraction to kick the ball away, and Hargrave went after him. James headed back to his room, leaving the other two boys scuffling in the hall, trying to gain possession of the ball.

*****

James had about ten minutes until he had to be in class, but he very much wanted to finish the chapter he was reading before he left the library. He avoided reading in his room. Hargrave was always so snide about bookworms.

As if thinking of Hargrave conjured him up out of thin air, he appeared over James’s shoulder. “What on earth are you doing in here?” He said. His voice was much too loud for the library.

James had learned that being sarcastic worked best with Hargrave—made him smile or even laugh where a serious answer bored him. “What does it look like I’m doing?” James whispered.

Hargrave snatched _David Copperfield_ from James’s hands. “We only got the assignment on Monday. How have you read so much in three days?”

James shrugged. He grabbed the book back and stuffed it into his bag. “I’m skimming,” he lied. He hadn’t intended to read ahead, but he’d found himself absorbed in the story.

Hargrave’s attention was already drifting. “Look,” he said, with a nod of his head. “There’s Sanderson.”

James looked in the direction of Hargrave’s gesture. Over by the windows was a short boy with glasses and too-long hair almost as blond as James’s. He was reading _David Copperfield_.

“Come on.” Hargrave stood and crossed the room. 

Hargrave took a seat next to Sanderson and leaned close to him. “You done your review for Linnington?”

Sanderson nodded without looking up from his book.

“I didn’t have the chance—rugby practice, you know. Can I take a look at yours?”

Sanderson’s finally looked up from the page. His eyes darted toward Hargrave before settling on James, who hovered a few feet away from the table.

It made James angry: _he_ wasn’t the one asking to copy Sanderson’s work. He had solved the equations easily, which was lucky as Mr. Linnington was terrible at explaining things. But with that nervous glance, Sanderson seemed to be blaming James as well as Hargrave.

Sanderson sighed. “Fine.” He threw his novel down onto the table and rummaged in his bag. He pulled out a rumpled piece of lined paper and handed it to Hargrave.

“Thank you,” Hargrave said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. As if he weren’t cheating, quietly bullying Sanderson into giving him the answers.

Hargrave quickly copied Sanderson’s work into his own notebook. He returned the paper to Sanderson with a smile, then grinned up at James.

“Let’s go,” James said. “We’ll be late.”

James saw Sanderson creep into the classroom moments before Mr. Linnington started class. For the first half hour of class, James was sure he felt Sanderson’s eyes on him. Finally, when he couldn’t stand it any longer, he glanced over his shoulder when Mr. Linnington was turned toward the blackboard.

Sanderson wasn’t looking at James at all. He was gazing out the window. He seemed to be off in another world. James had been stupid to be so worried. He pulled out his copy of _David Copperfield_ and slid it inside his open textbook so Mr. Linnington wouldn’t notice that he wasn’t paying attention.

After class, James took his time packing up his things. He wanted to manage it so that he walked out of the classroom at the same time as Sanderson. He didn’t know what he’d say, exactly, but he didn’t want this weighing on him all day. But Sanderson hadn’t moved from his chair. He was still staring out the window.

“Hathaway?”

James turned. Hargrave had popped his head back in the classroom door and was frowning at him. “Come on!” Hargrave disappeared into the corridor.

“Yeah, right,” James called as he trotted to catch up with Hargrave.

*****

James heard a toilet flush on the other side of the bathroom and jumped out of the way of the shower’s spray just in time. He had learned the hard way that the water temperature rose several degrees whenever someone flushed. When it was safe to step back under the showerhead, James quickly rinsed the soap from his skin and shut off the water.

With the towel wrapped around his waist, James slid the curtain to the side. At the sink almost directly in from of him stood Hargrave, combing his hair in the mirror.

It didn’t seem quite fair: James knew for a fact that Hargrave was almost eight months younger than he was, but he looked far older. It was because James was so skinny. The angles of his shoulders weren’t rounded out with muscle like Hargrave’s.

Hargrave met James’s gaze in the mirror and raised his eyebrows. James looked away and reached for his dressing gown. He gathered his things and was about to leave the bathroom when Hargrave grabbed his arm.

Hargrave gave James a shove toward the stall closest to the door. “I’ll count to three,” he whispered. “Then we all flush.”

Over Hargrave’s shoulder, James could see Turner slipping into the next stall and another boy James didn’t know going into the farthest.

“What?”

“Just go!” Hargrave said. “Flush on the count of three!” 

The hiss of water from the shower stalls echoed off the tile walls. If all of the toilets were flushed at once, taking all the cold water, the temperature in the showers would shoot up. Whoever was in there was going to get a nasty surprise.

Hargrave’s voice came from over the dividing wall. “One.” 

James just stood there. He knew he should do something, but he felt frozen.

“Two.”

“Hargrave,” James whispered.

“Three!”

Still frozen, James heard the toilets flushing, then saw a blur of motion as Hargrave led the other two boys out of the bathroom in a rush. A yell coming from the shower stalls finally spurred James to move. He made a dash for the door, but not before he saw one of the shower curtains whipped aside. Sanderson stood there, face contorted with rage, clutching a towel around his waist.

James turned and ran.

*****

James was certain that Sanderson had seen him in the bathroom. It was all he could think about. It was almost a relief for James when he got a message from Mrs. Carr, who ran the infirmary. James had never met her, but he’d heard the names the other boys called her. He knew she was strict.

After James entered the office, Mrs. Carr closed the door.

“I’m sure you know what happened this morning in the third floor bathroom,” she said.

James hesitated for only a moment before nodding. To pretend he hadn’t heard anything would be suspicious.

“It’s a rather serious situation, I’m afraid.” Mrs. Carr came to sit in the chair behind her desk. “Mr. Sanderson stepped away from the water in time. Mr. Reed, however, was not so lucky. He was quite badly scalded.”

James swallowed.

“Those responsible must be punished, Mr. Hathaway,” Mrs. Carr continued. “And any information provided to help the administration discover who did this will be kept completely confidential.”

James waited. And waited.

“James?” Mrs. Carr said. James was surprised that she didn’t sound angry. “Do you have anything to tell me?”

“I’m sorry,” James said carefully. “I can’t tell you anything.” He knew that wasn’t the same thing as saying _I don’t know anything_ , but at least it wasn’t a lie.

Mrs. Carr stared at him, obviously wanting him to squirm a bit. When she finally spoke, her voice was very quiet. “You were seen in the bathroom, Mr. Hathaway.”

So Sanderson _had_ seen him.

“I—” He cleared his throat. “I’d just come out of the shower myself.”

“And you didn’t see the boys planning this?”

James shook his head. Mrs. Carr still held him in her steely gaze. James could feel his face flushing. It must be painfully obvious that he was lying.

After several long minutes, Mrs. Carr dismissed him. He was late for dinner, so he headed straight for the dining hall. He filled a plate, hardly knowing what he took, and found a seat at an almost empty table. He picked up his fork and shoveled food into his mouth like a robot.

“Hathaway.”

James let his fork drop onto his plate.

Hargrave slid onto the bench right next to James. “I heard you got called to Carr’s office.” He was trying to sound glib, but James could hear the fear in his voice.

James turned to study Hargrave’s face. Hargrave just stared back at him.

“I didn’t tell her anything.”

Hargrave looked guilty—just for a split second—then grinned. “Good man, Hathaway.”

James didn’t like the feeling he got in his belly, seeing Hargrave’s smile.

*****

“It would be valuable experience for you. Most of our head boys have also been peer tutors.” Mr. Linnington looked over his glasses at James. “And we both know you’ve more than mastered the subject matter. It would just mean giving up a bit of your free time each week.”

“Yes, sir.”

Mr. Linnington cocked his head. “This isn’t a requirement, James. If you’d rather not . . .”

“No, sir,” James said, sitting up straighter in his chair. He did want to be peer tutor—his father had impressed upon him the importance of taking advantage of any opportunity. He could hear his father’s voice, _Who knows, James? From a school like this, you could make it to Oxford._ “I’d like to, very much.”

Mr. Linnington’s face relaxed, and he sat back in his chair. “Good, good. After class on Monday then?”

James nodded and escaped from the classroom.

He didn’t run, but he was moving along at a pretty good clip. Just he rounded the corner, he ran into someone very solid indeed. It threw them both off balance.

“Whoa!” It was Turner. “What’s the rush?”

Hargrave’s voice came from behind Turner in what was, for him, a whisper. “Who is it?”

“It’s only Hathaway,” Turner drawled. Then he stepped aside so that James could see Hargrave and another boy. Hargrave’s hand was on the boy’s shoulder. Hargrave barely spared James a glance.

“We’re just having a little chat, right Willy?” Hargrave threw one fist toward the boy’s face, stopping just short of hitting him, and then chuckled as the boy ducked his head. 

“Hey!” James flinched at how loud his voice sounded, echoing in the almost empty corridor. The word had been out of his mouth before he could stop it.

“Quiet!” Hargrave said. He gave the boy a savage push, at the same time sticking out his leg so that the boy stumbled over it and fell.

The boy didn’t throw his hands out to catch himself. He fell hard, his face slamming into the floor. Only then did he unwrap his arms from around his books and push himself up. The skin all around his left eye was pink, already beginning to swell. His lip must have torn on his teeth—there was a drop of blood at the corner of his mouth. The boy rubbed at it with one hand. Instead of wiping it away, he only managed to smear it across his chin.

“Clumsy,” Turner said.

Hargrave snorted a laugh and gave the boy on the floor another shove.

“Stop it,” James said.

All of them looked up at James. The boy, who had managed to get himself up onto his knees by now, stared, just as surprised at James’s interference as Hargrave and Turner.

“What did you say?”

James tore his eyes away from the smudge of red on the boy’s chin and looked at Hargrave. He’d expected Hargrave to look angry, but instead he was smiling. Did he think that James was joking? Or did the idea of having James to push around as well make him happy?

“Stop it,” James repeated. “Leave him alone.”

The smile slid off Hargrave’s face. “You can’t be serious,” he said, his voice dripping with disdain. But he turned to face James, turned away from the boy on the floor, and that was enough for now.

James didn’t look away from Hargrave’s face—as if removing his gaze would somehow release Hargrave. But in his peripheral vision James could see the boy scramble to his feet.

“Is there a problem, Hathaway?”

Hargrave took a step closer to James, but James didn’t budge. He dared a look at the boy, who just stood there, backed up against the wall. His eyes were huge, surrounded by almost girlishly pretty lashes, and James felt a flash of annoyance—why did he let himself look like that? Like he was asking for it?

Suddenly James could hear footsteps from the stairwell. Turner and Hargrave must have heard the noise too. They took one look at each other and made a dash in the opposite direction. No one appeared, however. Whoever had been on the stairs must have been headed for another floor. James could hear the footsteps growing quieter, then fading to nothing.

James shoved his hands into his pockets to stop them shaking.

“Thank you,” the boy whispered.

James shook his head. He didn’t want to be thanked. He hadn’t really done anything.

“But—”

“No,” James said. “Please don’t.”

The boy just stared at James, his eyes still ridiculously wide, and again James had to push away his irritation. “Let’s get you to the infirmary,” he said.

“Oh, no.” The boy looked down at the books he was clutching to his chest. “No, I don’t think—”

“You’re bleeding,” James said. “And I think your eye might turn black.”

A surprisingly bright smile lit up the boy’s face, and he said, “Going to the infirmary won’t stop that.”

“Still . . .”

The boy sighed and rolled his eyes, but he turned in the direction of the infirmary. “I guess Mrs. Carr would at least give me something to stop the bleeding.”

James walked with him.

“I’m Will,” the boy said. “Will McEwan.”

“Hathaway. James—”

“I know,” Will said.

James cringed—Will likely knew who he was because he’d been seen so often with Hargrave. But when he stole a glance to the side, Will smiled again, and James saw no fear or anxiety there.

Mrs. Carr frowned at the both of them when they presented themselves at her desk. “Should I bother asking who’s responsible for this?”

“I tripped, ma’am,” Will answered with a cheeky grin that made James want to laugh.

“Indeed,” answered Mrs. Carr.

They all knew there was more to the story, but it seemed Mrs. Carr wouldn’t ask for the details and Will wouldn’t offer them.

There wasn’t much Mrs. Carr could do. Will’s lip had stopped bleeding, and the bruising around his eye was already turning darker. After giving Will a cursory inspection and a cold cloth for his eye, she sent him back to his room. James stood to follow Will out of the infirmary, but Mrs. Carr called him back.

Will looked back at James for a moment, his expression unreadable, then disappeared into the corridor. James turned to Mrs. Carr, who had crossed the room to stand close. She was a short and plump—James was taller than she was. Yet somehow, hands on her hips, disapproval written all over her face, she seemed to tower over him.

“Have you befriended Mr. McEwan?”

“No, ma’am. I’ve only just met him.”

“Then why exactly are you here?”

“I—” James swallowed. “I saw him trip, and I thought I should help.”

“Yes?”

“So I brought him here,” James said. She was still staring at him. “Ma’am?”

“He’s a nice boy, Will McEwan.”

James nodded because she seemed to be waiting for him to respond.

“And I believe before falling in with Mr. Hargrave, you also were a nice boy.”

There was no answer for this, so James said nothing.

Mrs. Carr stared at James for several very long minutes before finally turning away and walking briskly back to her desk. “Do be careful, Mr. Hathaway.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

James left the infirmary as quickly as he could without breaking into a run. He was surprised to find Will waiting for him halfway down the corridor.

“What did she say?” Will whispered when James caught up to him.

“Nothing important,” James answered. And it hadn’t been, not really. He understood what she’d been trying to tell him, but he’d already figured it out for himself.

Will turned and walked slowly toward the stairs, and James followed, wondering why he didn’t just walk away.

“I shared a room with Hargrave, our first year,” Will said as they climbed the stairs up to the dormitories. “Did you know that?”

James shook his head.

“At least he wasn’t a slob,” Will continued.

James stopped in his tracks and stared. Will took a few more steps before he turned and looked back at James. He was smiling—the same cheeky grin he’d given Mrs. Carr.

Will led James to his room, which seemed to be filled with books: on the shelf over his desk, stacked on the desk itself, in a toppling-over pile on the floor next to his bed. James tried to make out the words on the spines from across the room, curious, but not wanting to show his interest.

Then James realised that he could walk over and read the titles—they were Will’s books, and if he owned them he certainly wouldn’t fault James for being drawn to them. James could pick up the books, look through them, ask Will about them. Will would likely be pleased. The thought made James laugh.

Will looked at him, clearly puzzled.

“You have a lot of books,” James explained. He could feel the ridiculous smile on his face, but he didn’t bother trying to hide it.

“Yes,” Will answered. One of his eyebrows was crooked up, plainly communicating _You’re mad_ , but he was smiling too.

The End


End file.
